


Wheat Fields and Jars of Light

by krisham, violue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1880s, Alternate Universe - Western, Canon-Typical Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Vampires, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisham/pseuds/krisham, https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: It's the mid-1880s. Grieving the loss of his twin brother, Castiel Novak is on a journey across Kansas to search for those responsible for his death. By horse, by carriage, by foot, he won't stop until he's hunted them down and gotten his revenge. What he finds, though, is that nothing in the world is quite what he thought it was.





	Wheat Fields and Jars of Light

**Author's Note:**

> I love Kris to bits and pieces, so you bet your asses I dove in to snatch her prompt the second claims were open. If you're a regular reader of mine, you know I'm all about modern/domestic AUs. Even the magic/supernatural things I write are based in present time, so this story really represented a new challenge for me, as it's a western AU. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you enjoy Kris' art, also located [in this post!](http://kelisab.tumblr.com/post/174850133149/my-art-for-this-years-deancas-reverse-bang-in)
> 
> Many thanks to Kris, Lydie, and Dani, my beta Dream Team. :)) ilu guys

 

The sketches are beautiful, in Castiel’s opinion. If Sam and Dean Winchester weren’t grave robbers, horse thieves, and murderers, Castiel would want to keep their wanted posters based on aesthetic value alone. Although, that would likely raise a few eyebrows. Still, perhaps when he catches the Winchesters, when he’s had his revenge, Castiel will have their posters framed as a trophy.

Cocky thoughts, Castiel knows. Hubris, that’s what Jimmy would say.

He also knows, deep down, that Jimmy would not support Castiel avenging his death at all. Jimmy was the good, temperate brother, never a hand raised in anything other than defense of himself or others. He’d never spend months tracking two outlaws across Kansas just to shoot them in cold blood. He wouldn’t forgive and forget, but he wouldn’t do this either. He wouldn’t want this for Castiel.

But Jimmy’s dead, remains laid to rest with their parents all the way back in Wichita. Castiel is the one who has to keep going, and this is how he’ll keep going. He has a mission.

He’s going to find the outlaws Deputy Sheriff James Novak was sent to bring in, the ones that shot him in the heart. Find them, and then kill them.

 

 

 

 

*

 

Lawrence isn’t all that different from the other areas of Kansas that Castiel’s made his way through during the past few months. More wheat and cattle country, ground beaten into hard roads by years of horses and stagecoaches. It’s bigger than most other towns, aside from Wichita and the capital, but it still looks the same. After months zigzagging through Kansas on foot, horseback, and any other method, it all looks the same.

“Here we are, son, you good to go?” the man on the horse in front of him says.

“I am,” Castiel says, scrambling out of the back of the cart. A good man, this Rufus. Tired and sweaty and still willing to bring a stranger along in his cart from Eudora. Castiel was glad for the reprieve, his legs are tired.

“Ever been out here before?” Rufus says when Castiel comes to stand next to his horse.

“Not since I was a boy,” Castiel says.

“Well, lotta the town burned when Quantrill’s men came back in sixty-three, so probably looks a bit different. Bones are still the same though. If you’re lookin’ for a place to rest, lotta widows still taking boarders, I’d check over at Singer’s, he usually knows who’s taking renters.” Rufus points one long, brown finger in the direction of what looks to be a drugstore just up the road. “I’d take you there myself but that old goosecap ain’t speaking to me at the moment.”

“Disagreement over a woman?”

Rufus looks at Castiel like he’s out of his mind. “Not even close.”

Castiel digs through his pack until he finds an old Seated Liberty dollar. He has gold dollars, but he’s got to be careful with his funds. He holds the coin out to Rufus. “For your trouble.”

Rufus grins wide. “White folk, I swear. Either you hate me or you do that… overcompensating nonsense. I’m takin’ the money though,” he says, taking the coin. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Castiel smiles and nods.

 

*

 

Before Castiel heads into Singer’s Goods, he straightens himself up a little, dusts off his hat, and takes Jimmy’s old vest out of his bag. It’s all sorts of illegal, but Castiel’s found it’s easier to get information out of people when they think he’s the law, rather than some morose looking drifter. People also hassle him less about being clean shaven and carrying a gun.

Most of all, though, Castiel simply likes that it makes him feel closer to his brother.

“You’re new,” a bearded man behind the counter says the second Castiel walks in.

“You’re observant,” Castiel replies. He hasn’t slept or eaten in two days, he’s a bit peevish. The man grins, though, setting down the empty jar he was cleaning.

“What can I do for you, deputy?”

“Looking for two things,” Castiel says, using the authoritative voice he’s been perfecting the past few months. “Place for board, and these two men.” Castiel takes out the wanted poster that features both Winchester brothers, placing it on the shop counter.

The man’s eyes twitch, just barely. “I know em’. Got Sam’s nose all wrong there,” he says, tapping the poster.

“I didn’t draw it,” Castiel says.

“Ain’t seen the Winchester boys in a long time, what’d they get into this time?”

“Long list of grievances from the state, most recently the murder of a deputy. Are you sure you haven’t seen them recently, Mr. —”

“Singer,” the man says, “and no. I’m in charge of this drugstore, not much time to keep up with local felons.”

“What about that other thing?”

“Board? Church on the other end of town takes boarders,” Singer says. Castiel grimaces. “Or if the holy and mighty ain’t your crowd, I know the Widow Adler has an open room. She’s unfriendly to say the least, charges more than the others, and she’ll run you ragged with chores, but she’ll feed you and give you shelter, and as far as renters I know, she’s the only one with an opening.”

Castiel nods. A room with an unfriendly widow sounds far more appealing than bunking up with God’s Children. “Where can I find her?”

 

*

 

Castiel was never as good at reading people as Jimmy, but he knows Singer was lying about the Winchesters. Maybe he’s afraid of them, or maybe he’s a friend. Jimmy’s notes said that the Winchesters were originally from Lawrence, it would make sense for them to have friends or even family here, though family is unlikely. As far as Castiel knows, they have no living family members other than each other. Still, there’s no point in pressing the issue just yet. Castiel badly needs a meal, some sleep, and to scrub a few layers of grime away from his skin.

“You’ll be bathing first for certain,” Naomi Adler says as she leads Castiel through her home. “Mattresses don’t come cheap and I won’t have you stinking mine up, Deputy.”

Her home is large for this part of Kansas. Whomever Naomi’s late husband was, he must have been someone wealthy. The house has a range, a parlor, the privy in the back is made of brick, and upstairs Naomi has a large bedroom and a study. As for Castiel’s room, it’s a bit more rustic, though spacious. It’s not part of the main house, maybe for his privacy, maybe for Naomi’s protection. It’s not that much smaller than the house he has back home, though it’s only one room. A cotton-stuffed mattress on a bed with a metal frame, a table and desk by the single curtain-covered window, and a small tub. There’s no cookstove in here, though, so once his things are settled Naomi helps him fill the tub with a mix of cold and boiling water from the main house.

“Meals are at dawn and sunset,” Naomi says once the tub is filled. “If I can’t find you, I’ll assume you’ve found food elsewhere, and that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Yes ma’am,” Castiel says, for what must be the thirtieth time since he arrived.

“I hope for your sake you’ve got some honor, Deputy. I had a boarder a while back, Cole Trenton. Stuffed my silver in his bag and tried to come for me as well. I shot him between the eyes,” Naomi says gravely.

“Ma’am I assure you I have no want for your silver, nor your virtue.”

Naomi lets out something nearing a laugh at the word “virtue”, but she nods. “Just so we understand each other. You can come and go from this room as you please, but the main house gets locked up before I turn in. If you need something from me, you’d best not need it in the middle of the night.”

Castiel’s quite sure he’s never been more frightened of a woman in his life. “I understand.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Hope you’ll be in the mood for mutton, later.”

As if on cue, Castiel’s stomach emits a loud, groan of hunger. Naomi _almost_ smiles before leaving the room and going back to the house.

 

*

 

Castiel spends a long time scrubbing his skin, long after the hot water has cooled. It then makes sense to scrub at his clothes with his soap and try to get some of the filth out of them as well. He cleans the pair of jeans he’s wearing, the three shirts in his bag, Jimmy’s vest, and every piece of fabric he can find until the water in the tub is more sludge than anything else. He dumps the tub outside, and hangs his clothes on the rails of the tiny porch surrounding the shed before going back inside to lie on the lumpy, though comfortable bed. It’s a warm day out, Castiel’s hopeful his clothes will dry some before Naomi comes to fetch him for supper.

 

*

 

“Castiel?”

“ _Castiel._ ”

“I’m not going to knock again, Deputy.”

Castiel startles awake, naked and terribly confused until he remembers where he is. “I’m here!” he hollers. “I’m ah, indecent, ma’am.”

There’s an annoyed huff from the other side of the door. “I thought as much when I saw all the clothes dripping out here. Gonna leave one of my late husband’s nightshirts in front of the door, put it on and come eat.”

Castiel waits until he hears the faint sound of the house’s backdoor slamming before scrambling out of the bed and over to the door. The nightshirt is made for a man taller and wider than Castiel, but it’s _clean,_ so he pulls the pale blue ankle-length garment over his head, so terribly pleased to no longer smell the various stenches of the road.

Dinner with Naomi is mostly quiet, but absolutely delicious. Castiel hasn’t eaten anything that wasn’t dried and preserved in at least two weeks, and Naomi’s rich mutton stew and soft bread is just what he needed.

Naomi’s a hard woman, but she makes a good caretaker, in Castiel’s opinion. She tells Castiel that he didn’t do a good enough job washing his clothes, which seems unkind until she tells him tomorrow he can use her washboard and some of her scented soap. She sternly tells Castiel not to eat so quickly, but she also gives him a second helping of stew unprompted. She reminds Castiel a bit of his aunt Hester back in Wichita; he never could figure out whether she cared for him or hated him.

After dinner and a serving of chamomile tea, Naomi tells Castiel to hurry off to bed, that he’ll want to hurry and get his chores out of the way early tomorrow if he has things to do in Lawrence.

Castiel would rather sleep for two days, but this is still better than sleeping in some church boarding house or a stranger’s barn.

 

*

 

Naomi’s home is fairly immaculate, so there’s not much to be done inside by way of chores the next morning. The outside of the home is what’s in need of work. Crooked railings, overgrown yard, even some peeling paint. Naomi laments to him that her last few boarders could afford to pay their way, so her house hasn’t been tended to in a while. Lucky for her, Castiel is trying to save his money whenever he can. He spends the early hours of the morning wrestling with Naomi’s rusting cylinder mower until the overgrowth is tamed into submission, then rewashes all of his clothes but the ones he’s wearing with the lemon-scented soap Naomi donated to his cause. After that, Naomi ushers him inside for corn dodgers and ham and egg sandwiches. It fills Castiel with a bit of melancholy; Jimmy loved ham and egg sandwiches, he’d routinely eat them every meal for a week or until they ran out of ham.

“You look troubled,” Naomi remarks, voice dispassionate, but inquisitive.

“Got a mission to get to,” Castiel says.

“Ah yes, tracking criminals.”

“Perhaps you know them, I’m looking for Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Troublemakers,” Naomi says immediately. “Wouldn’t know where to find them now, but those boys were always trouble.”

“I believe they killed a fellow deputy back near Wichita.”

Naomi tuts. “I’ll be honest, deputy, I’ve no love for either of those boys, but murder? Of a lawman, even? That’s hard for me to believe.”

“Singer said the same.”

“Bobby practically raised those boys, you know,” Naomi remarks. “Their mother died birthing the second son, the father was never around much til’ he was killed about fifteen years ago. Coyotes.”

“That’s a very sad story,” Castiel says. “Sometimes men with sad stories become the men who create sad stories for others.”

“Well, you’d know better’n me what the boys have or haven’t done, just hard for me to think of them as killers. Thieves, yes. Raucous irresponsible gamblers, too. But killing… well, I suppose you never really know with some people.”

“No,” Castiel says, “I don’t suppose you do.”

 

*

 

After a stern reminder from Naomi about dinner time and what happens to Castiel’s belongings if he’s gone longer than a week, Castiel packs up what he’ll need for the day and sets off to the local livery to see about getting a horse.

The deputy badge gets him some slack on the price at the livery, though the mare he ends up with is an incredibly restless one. The livery’s owner, Gadreel, warns Castiel that Angel hates to sit still, so Castiel had better be good at securing her if he doesn’t want her running off.

“I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” Castiel says, even as the dappled grey creature swats him right in the face with her tail.

“Mhmm,” Gadreel says, “well I know the produce market’s got a special on cabbage this week, but don’t be feeding that to Angel unless you like your horses stinkin’ up all the breathable air.”

Castiel grimaces. “Thank you for the advice.”

 

*

 

Having a horse makes canvassing the town for information faster, but unfortunately all that means is Castiel gets to be told “Sorry, can’t help you” by a larger number of people than he would’ve on foot. Frustrating. Castiel believes the lead he got in Leavenworth was real, that the Winchesters were indeed headed this way, but maybe his information was bad. Or maybe, once again, they’ve already left.

He was so sure he would find them here. Leavenworth was the first time he’d heard “they passed through here a couple days ago” instead of “they passed through here a few weeks ago”.

He thought he was finally getting closer, but if the Winchesters are here, no one’s talking. No one’s even pointing Castiel toward where they might be headed. It’s an aggravating, useless day, and by the time he returns Angel to the livery for the evening, Castiel is in a terribly sore mood.

Naomi ushers Castiel inside and to the supper table as soon as he arrives at the house, and he’s grateful that their meal is shared in silence.

 

*

 

The routine established on Castiel’s first full day in Lawrence repeats itself over and over, until nine days have passed. Castiel is slowly running out of money as he continues to rent Angel every day, he’s running out of people to ask about the Winchesters, and he’s running out of patience.

Every day it’s the same; up just before sunrise, do work on Naomi’s house, breakfast, walk to the livery for the horse, get stonewalled by the citizens of Lawrence for hours on end, back to the livery to return Angel, back to Naomi’s house for supper, an hour spent going over Jimmy’s notes at the table by the window in his room, then an admittedly comfortable sleep.

The hardest part is not knowing if he’s wasting his time here or not. If he should be moving on, or if the Winchesters truly are hiding out here somewhere. Nine days. If the Winchesters have indeed moved on, their lead will be growing and growing. But Castiel doesn’t want to pick a random direction and hope he’s on the right path. No, that would be foolish.

Right now he’s sitting at the table by the window, hat and vest still on, candle slowly burning as he stares and stares at the wanted posters he’s been carrying with him. Jimmy’s notes are mocking Castiel from where they sit scattered on his bed.

 

 

As he does every night, he runs his fingers along the ornate detail of Jimmy’s Colt. It’s not the Colt Jimmy carried for work, the one Castiel will be using when he finds the Winchesters; this one is different. It’s an odd piece, one Castiel never saw while Jimmy was alive, but it was in the box of things concerning the Winchesters, and Castiel thought it too lovely to leave behind. There’s a Latin inscription along the barrel, “non timebo mala”. Castiel knows it means “I will fear no evil”, though it’s odd to see such a thing on a gun which also bears a pentagram etched into the handle. If Castiel were religious, he’d probably think the gun was some sort of dark object, having a devil’s mark on it like that. But he’s not a man of God, just a man toying with a gun that has no bullets.

He puts the gun away; it’s of no real use to him.

He’s agitated tonight, can’t find it in him to even start preparing for bed. No Winchesters, no leads, no ideas, no answers, no Jimmy.

Castiel has nothing.

Castiel needs to go out.

 

*

 

Lawrence is a different town at night. No people milling about, stores shuttered, everything but the dramshops closed up, dusty main road only somewhat visible under the light of the street’s gas lamps. The air is easier to breathe, the stars provide a less intrusive company than the sun, the air is cooler. Since Castiel doesn’t want to spare his coins on spirits, the saloons hold no interest for him, so there’s not really much to do other than walk peacefully and be alone with his thoughts.

Which is no good.

Alone with his thoughts is no good at all.

After half an hour Castiel returns to Naomi’s homestead, feeling no better, though at least worn enough to finally get to sleep. He opens the door to his room behind Naomi’s house, and he freezes.

There’s a man sitting in Castiel’s chair by the window, downward face obscured by his Stetson hat. His boots are propped up on the table, he’s got one of the wanted posters in his hand, and Jimmy’s notes are all over the table. He’s also using Castiel’s very last candle, which is aggravating.

“Surely you were taught how rude it is to put filthy boots up on furniture,” Castiel says.

“Heard there was a deputy lookin’ for me,” the man says, setting the poster down. It’s then that Castiel sees his face, and his hand immediately goes for the gun holstered on his hip.

Dean Winchester, in the flesh. Dean Winchester, who’s now staring at Castiel and looking incredibly alarmed.

“Novak—” Dean sputters as he jumps to his feet. “Wolves ain’t supposed to leave a spirit behind, I know that. How can—”

“Start making sense,” Castiel says, pointing his gun at Dean.

“You can’t be here, you’re dead,” Dean says.

Ah, he thinks Castiel is Jimmy. Further evidence that he was involved in Jimmy’s death.

“I’m a vengeful spirit,” Castiel says blandly, “I’ve come back from the dead to exact my revenge on those who took my life.”

The light’s not great in here, but Castiel is fairly certain he just saw Dean roll his eyes.

“Ghosts can’t hold a gun, and wolves don’t leave behind ghosts. What are you? Not decayed enough to be a revenant, don’t reek like a demon… you a ghoul? Knew we shoulda burned your body, but _no,_ Sammy said we oughta leave something for your damn family.”

Castiel nearly pulls the trigger just so this man will stop spouting nonsense.

“You ain’t Jimmy, Jimmy wouldn’t be looking for revenge on me,” Dean reasons, right before he rushes forward and rams into Castiel head first, knocking him against the wall and to the floor.

Castiel groans, dazed. Dean’s straddled him, and Castiel can’t see his gun anywhere. He thrashes about, trying to knock Dean free, but then Dean produces a small, silver dagger from his coat.

“Hold still,” Dean says sternly.

“If you expect me to beg for my life, you’ll be disappointed,” Castiel growls.

“Whatever you say, man,” Dean says. He shifts until his knee is pinning Castiel’s right arm, and he picks up Castiel’s left, holding the blade against his skin. He frowns, and Castiel winces as he makes a small cut. “Ain’t a ghoul, wraith, shifter…”

“I’m a _human,_ you lunatic!” Castiel barks.

“ _I’m_ a lunatic? Which one of us walked in here and said he was a ghost back from the dead? That ain’t even how ghosts work. If you were _back_ from the dead, you’d be a revenant or a zombie. Ghosts are still dead.”

“Wh-wha—”

Dean tilts his head slightly as he stares down at Castiel. “You ain’t Jimmy at all, are you?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“One of us has got a weapon right now, and it ain’t you. Who are you?”

Castiel just glares.

Dean sighs, pocketing his blade and pulling a handful of what looks like sand out of his pocket. “ _Loquens tantum iustitiam adnuntians recta,_ ” Dean mutters. It’s Latin, but Castiel’s ability to understand Latin tends to require it being written, not spoken. “Tell me who you are,” Dean hisses.

This time Castiel opens his mouth. “My name is Castiel Novak,” he says involuntarily. _How._

“So, you really aren’t Jimmy.”

“He was my twin.”

Dean winces. “That’s rough, man, sorry.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, while I have you… why have you been looking for me and my brother?”

Castiel tries hard not to speak, but the words so desperately want to come out. “Because I’m hoping that avenging my brother’s death will bring me peace.”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I _had_ to kill your brother?”

“No.”

Dean nods. “That’s fair. I’m sorry, Castiel, but I can’t help you.”

“I didn’t come looking for your help, I came—”

“Yeah, well I can’t let you do that neither. Go home, Deputy.”

“I’m not really a deputy,” Castiel says, because apparently he can’t control his mouth.

Dean’s eyebrows raise. He looks almost amused. “Stole your brother’s badge to track us all over Kansas?”

“Yes.”

“I admire the dedication. Truth is, I’d do the same if it were me.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Dean looks a little offended. “No, but I _am_ gonna leave you stuck to the floor all night, and if I could give you some advice… you oughta stop following me and my brother. We ain’t what you’re looking for.”

“Then who—”

“ _Rigescunt indutae,_ ” Dean says, sprinkling some of that sand on Castiel’s face. Castiel could swear it glows. Dean stands, tossing more of the sand all over Castiel’s body.

Castiel leaps to his feet, ready to attack— except he doesn’t. He doesn’t get to his feet, he doesn’t attack, he just lies there, staring at Dean. He can’t move, Castiel can’t move.

 _This man has magic sand_.

Dean gives what almost passes for a polite nod, then he blows out Castiel’s candle and leaves.

 

*

 

Castiel lies on the floor, because it’s all he can do. His eyelids will open and close, but that’s all. Try as he might, his body simply will not budge. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to be possible. Latin incantations, shimmering sand… it’s nonsense. _This_ is nonsense.

But if it were truly nonsense, Castiel would be standing up right now, and he’s not. He’s lying on the floor in the dark, listening to the crickets in the distance, wondering if he’ll ever move again. It hurts, this position. His back is going to ache something fierce in a few hours, surely. Still, there’s nothing he can do about it. He hums old hymns that his mother used to sing, wishing he could at the very least fall asleep.

An hour passes, and the door to his room opens. Castiel would turn to look at whoever is coming in, but of course he can’t.

“So, I was talking to Sammy…” Oh great, it’s Dean Winchester again. “I told him what happened, and he got to acting like a mother hen, sayin’ how rude it was to leave you here like this. Thought he had a point.”

Dean lifts Castiel with a grunt, and Castiel is horrified and amazed to realize that his legs and arms remain outstretched as though he were still on the floor.

Is he a statue?

Dean sets Castiel on the bed, and takes a moment to stuff a pillow under his neck. “Been in your position before, actually. You’ll be mobile in a few hours, but this ought to save you from a bad neck crick in the morning.”

Castiel tries to respond, but he can’t move his jaw. He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d had a cold, a blocked nose. Would he have suffocated, being unable to open his mouth for air? What a disturbing thought.

“You have yourself a good night, Cas,” Dean says, and then he’s out the door again.

 

*

 

It takes a while for Castiel to get his bearings after that night. There’s no denying that some sort of spellcraft was used on him, and yet it’s so unfathomable that Castiel can’t wrap his mind around it. He spends three days mostly in his room, save for when it’s time for chores or meals. He cleans his little room obsessively, fixes every crooked board and bent nail he can find. He cleans both guns, washes every washable item in his bag, then his bag. Anything to stop thinking about the idea that magic is real and that his gut is telling him he spent the last several months tracking and planning to kill the wrong men.

On the fourth day after Dean’s visit, Castiel comes to grips with the fact that he wants answers, and he won’t get them in this little room. After he does his chores and has breakfast with Naomi, Castiel uses Jimmy’s badge to get himself into the town’s records room at city hall. He goes through page after dusty page. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of poor organization and large amounts of information missing. The city clerk warned Castiel about this; a lot of private records were lost in the raids back during the war. It’s hours before Castiel finally finds something relevant.

Before John Winchester died, he owned a house, which was partially destroyed during the sixty-three raids and never rebuilt. It’s not much, but maybe there’s something there, something that can give Castiel answers, or at least help him decide if he should continue pursuing the Winchesters.

 

*

 

The old Winchester house is at the far edge of town, where there are fewer houses and more untamed meadows and fields. The house is off the main road, and the moment Castiel gets close enough to see it, his hopes of finding answers disappear. Evidently, “partially destroyed” was a severe understatement. It’s rubble, covered in dust and weeds. Charred bricks and wood, scraps of unrecognizable metal. Even the soil closest to the house seems barren. This is a bit confusing. No one of prominence lived here, it’s not in an important location, why was it so thoroughly destroyed? From what Castiel knows about the sixty-three raids, referred to as “The Lawrence Massacre” by locals, a home like this wouldn’t have been a target at all.

Maybe Castiel is just inherently suspicious of anything to do with the Winchesters at this point. Still, he came all this way, and on foot. Might as well look around.

He circles the pile of rubble a few times before going to the pile itself and starts moving things around, kicking up clouds of dust as he goes. Any wood that survived the fire is rotten, there are certainly no documents, and there appears to be a surplus of spiders. The only interesting things Castiel finds is a burned metal chair frame that seems to be secured to the floor, and a cast iron pan, rusted and far too heavy to be worth taking. He sighs, standing at what he assumes is the back of the house and staring at the floor. This truly was pointless.

It’s then that Castiel notices the disruption in the even coverage of dust on the floor, under and around the chair. The dust definitely seems thinner here, in an area of maybe four square feet.

Curious.

Castiel gets on his knees, trying to get a closer look. There’s a… seam. An almost imperceptible gap between the dustier part of the floor and this chair. He follows the seam, and realizes that what he thought were unrecognizable lumps of burnt metal are actually hinges.

A secret hatch?

With nothing else to pull on, Castiel uses the chair, bracing his weight against the back of it. The floor creaks and the area around the chair starts to lift, a square panel. Castiel pushes at the back of the chair until the chair is horizontal and the hatch is all the way open.

Inside is a metal ladder, which seems to go down for ten, twenty feet. There’s light at the bottom, but Castiel hears no voices, no panicked movement.

Gun in one hand, he carefully makes his way down the ladder.

There’s open space when he reaches the bottom, a large… very large room. Almost as large as the entire perimeter of the house, even. There are a few stone pillars for load bearing, but other than that it’s a fairly open space. Nothing in it is burned. There are two beds, a big desk with chairs, and several shelves overflowing with books. The floor is etched in large, ornate occult symbols. There are crates and trunks with strange sigils on them, swords displayed on the walls, and jar after jar of unusual substances meticulously arranged on what appears to be an apothecary table. Despite there being no ventilation, the air down here is clean and breathable, there are even a few potted plants thriving despite a lack of sunlight. Strangest of all, the lights that Castiel assumed were gas lamps aren’t gas lamps at all, but jars with bright, slowly moving lights trapped inside.

Castiel is terrified, and awed. This room feels more holy and sacred than any church he has ever set foot in.

There’s a massive, hand-drawn map on one wall, it’s of Kansas, and a bit of the surrounding territories. It’s covered in pins and labels. Vengeful Spirit, Lawrence. Siren, Carbondale. Djinn, Leavenworth. Possible Wendigo, Holbrook. Vampire, Dodge City. Vampire _Nest,_ Deerfield.

Some have dates on the labels, some don’t. Castiel’s eyes linger on a pin from about five months ago. Werewolves, Wichita. The date on this one is the day Jimmy died. For a moment, Castiel finds himself genuinely wondering if his brother was killed by a werewolf. Werewolves probably don’t use guns. Werewolves are also not real.

Except, Castiel has to reckon with the possibility that they are, that the things on this map exist.

 

*

 

Castiel spends hours in the room, examining tomes and journals, staring mystified at the magic light jars.

He also studies the map. The longer he looks at it, the more he notices there’s a pattern. The Winchesters have spent the past several years circling around and through Kansas, over and over, like a milk route. If the pattern can be trusted, their next stop will be Topeka, then on to the Potawatomi reservation, then Concordia and onward. If they’ve already left, Castiel can catch up to them. Demand… something. Answers.

When he decides to leave, he takes a few things with him.

One of the jars of light, which he wraps in cloth until the light can’t be seen. Four bullets he found in a small box, bullets etched with the same pentagram as the one on Jimmy’s other gun. He even takes a few coins from under one of the beds.

Dishonorable, perhaps, but Castiel is no lawman, and traveling all over Kansas isn’t cheap.

 

*

 

With an entire list of cities the Winchesters will visit and the likely order of those visits, Castiel decides he can afford to rest one more night before going after them.

In the morning he informs Naomi that he’ll likely be gone several days, and she promises to wait ten days before selling the belongings he leaves behind instead of her usual seven. She gives him some dried beef for the road, and even looks a bit sad to see him go before she seems to remember herself. He uses the money he took from the Winchesters along with some of his own to outright buy Angel instead of renting, loads his pack with feed and a new, larger canteen, and at the time Castiel is usually carrying heavy things for Naomi or clearing her yard, he sets off for Topeka.

 

*

 

It’s been years since Castiel last came through Topeka, and good heavens has it grown. The population has to have at least doubled, and there are entire neighborhoods that certainly weren’t here a decade ago. It makes Castiel grateful he isn’t here on foot, but still, locating the Winchesters will not be easy. Especially since this time, he won’t be asking around and risk giving them a heads up that he’s near. He hides Jimmy’s badge for the time being and rides Angel all over town. He blends in fairly well, Topeka has certainly gotten too large for outsiders to be easily noticeable.

After several hours, Angel is in need of rest, and Castiel’s back is sore, his spirits low from trying to find two needles in a haystack. It takes another hour for Castiel to find a livery with a good rate, and the sun is getting low by the time Castiel gets Angel fed and secured. He leaves the livery in search of a cheap supper, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest. Just down the main road, standing in front of a library and speaking with a sobbing woman dressed in mourning clothes… Sam and Dean Winchester. Castiel ducks behind a barrel of grain and watches.

Sam seems to be doing most of the talking, face and posture very sympathetic, offering comforting gestures to what Castiel assumes is a grieving widow. Dean stands silent next to them, slouched slightly and frowning deeply, one hand in the pocket of his duster, the other gripping the strap of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. At one point the woman begins gesticulating wildly to the north, and Dean’s posture goes a bit rigid. He says something that makes the widow take both of his hands and then hug him before hurrying off back into the library. Sam and Dean stare at each other for a moment, then nod simultaneously and start walking north.

Castiel follows them.

 

*

 

It’s rough work following the Winchesters; Castiel has been riding all day and is carrying his pack, making it difficult to keep up with their long strides, particularly when he has to hide periodically when it looks like they might be turning in his direction.

They reach their destination after the sun has set, and Castiel is dismayed to see that their destination is a cemetary. Grave robbing it is. Perhaps that’s how they finance their travels.

There’s a great deal of open space in the cemetery, which means Castiel has to fall even further back to avoid being seen. Sam and Dean walk to a newer looking part of the cemetery, pausing along the way to grab shovels from the maintenance shed. Knowing what will come next makes Castiel’s stomach turn.

Still, he doesn’t intervene. He watches as they work unceasingly to dig up a grave, then Dean hops into the grave. Foul.

Then Dean seems to be physically thrown from the grave. Castiel drops his pack and moves closer. Something is standing next to Dean’s crumpled form, a man that Castiel is _positive_ wasn’t there a moment ago. Sam yells something, and swings an object at the man. It’s getting too dark to tell; a crowbar, maybe.

It goes through the man, and the man disappears. Castiel’s jaw drops.

Sam goes to help Dean up, and Dean bats him away like a stubborn child before finally letting Sam pull him to his feet. Sam gestures at the grave, and Dean dusts himself off before holding out one hand. A ball of fire appears in his palm.

_Fire._

Dean drops the ball into the grave, just as the mystery man reappears behind him. The man reaches forward as though he’s about to grab Dean, then freezes, throwing his head back and letting out an ungodly howl as his body erupts in flames and he disappears yet again.

When did the world stop making sense?

The man doesn’t show up again. Sam and Dean fill the grave back in, and as far as Castiel can tell, they don’t take anything. He hides behind a mausoleum as the Winchesters go back the way they came. He can’t bring himself to follow them any longer. Soon, the Winchesters are out of sight and Castiel is standing alone in a cemetery.

There was a time when that wouldn’t have scared him at all, but now… well, if Castiel walks a bit _briskly_ when he leaves, he has his reasons.

He gets a good mile from the cemetery before he’s willing to stop walking. In order to not go the same way as the Winchesters, he had to go the opposite direction, which took him even further out of town. There’s nothing nearby other than a few trees and dry grassy meadows. Castiel would rather be indoors, away from… whatever the hell that thing in the cemetery was, but he’s tired, and it’s probably too late in the night to find a place to stay anyway. He walks off the main road into one of the fields, stopping when he gets to a tree. There’s a lot he should do, but he’s physically and emotionally exhausted, so all he does is curl up around his pack and go to sleep on the cold, scratchy ground.

 

*

 

It’s still dark when Castiel wakes. He’s not sure what woke him, but he knows he’s not alone. He rolls over onto his back. Dean’s sitting just a foot or two away, propped up against the tree, watching Castiel in the light of the moon.

“Thought I told you to go home, Cas.”

“Just because you give me an order, doesn’t mean I have to follow it.”

Dean lets out a small laugh. “True enough.”

“What was that thing?”

“In the boneyard? Ghost. Been haunting his wife for months. Usually the bodies we burn are nothing but bones, this one was still… intact.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s how you send away a spirit.”

“Why would he be vengeful towards his wife? Did she kill him?”

“It ain’t always like that. Sometimes even good men become angry spirits. Sometimes it happens real fast, sometimes it happens over years and years. Once laid a spirit to rest on the Missouri border that had been haunting the land over a century.”

Castiel sits up to face Dean fully. “So… that’s what you and your brother do? You lay spirits to rest?”

“Lay spirits to rest, exorcise demons, kill vampires… whatever’s needed.”

“With _witchcraft_.”

Dean’s responding smile is beautiful in the light of the full moon. “With whatever tools I have at my disposal.”

“And Sam? Is he a witch?”

“He ain’t, though I always thought he’d be better suited to the craft. Magic is funny like that. My mom had the gift, and somehow I got it too. Now there’s other ways to gain those powers, but that tends to involve deals with demons, selling your soul, blood sacrifices, all sorts of nastiness. But I came by my powers honest, and I use them to help keep this land safer.”

Castiel nods slowly. God help him, he believes Dean. “So it’s your… job?”

“More like a calling. Once in a while we do get paid, but… not everyone reacts all calm like you when they hear about ghosts and witchcraft. More than one hunter’s been shot or strung up because people got scared.”

“Hunter…”

“What we call ourselves.”

“So the two of you just… travel through Kansas over and over, looking for new monsters to take care of?”

“Pretty much. Have a routine route at this point, though I guess you figured that out.”

“Why don’t you go to other states?”

“Kansas is our home, we ought to look after it.”

“I see.”

They fall into a somewhat tense silence for a few minutes. Castiel listens to the sound of the slight wind rustling the leaves above him, the crickets chirping nearby, the sound of his own nervous heartbeat.

“Go on, ask,” Dean says.

“Why did you kill my brother?”

“He was tracking us for a long time. Came close a few times, even snatched Sam’s Colt. I don’t know if he’d figured out what we do, but he was close. It was my fault. I thought we’d lost him over in Wichita, I didn’t realize it was his hometown. He was following us and got attacked by the werewolf we were tracking.”

“The werewolf… shot him?”

“No, it _turned_ him. Turned him into a werewolf. The thing is… some supernatural states have cures. In the right circumstances you can turn a vampire back into a man, ghost sickness clears up when the ghost is gone, so on… but there’s no cure for being a werewolf as far as I know. Three nights a month you become a beast of nothing but rage and destruction, and not even the kindest of men can fight that rage. He turned, he became a werewolf, and woke up naked and covered in blood, parts of some poor man strewn all about. He put his affairs in order, then he came and found me and Sam.”

Castiel’s eyes are filling with tears, and his heart is too broken to feel ashamed. “I saw him that day, he… he’d been bathing, and he looked so sad about something. Wouldn’t tell me what, but he hugged me so tight. I thought maybe his case was getting to him, I had… he didn’t say goodbye.”

“It ain’t easy to say goodbye.”

“He came to you? Gave himself up?”

“Said he didn’t want to wake up one day and find his brother’s heart ripped out on the ground next to him. Guess he meant you.”

“Did you kill the wolf that turned him?”

“Yeah, we got her.”

Castiel nods. There’s a thick, painful lump in his throat. “So, that’s it then. My quest for revenge is over, I suppose.”

“Sorry, Cas. I know this ain’t ending the way you probably imagined.”

“No, it surely isn’t. But… here…” Castiel takes the Colt and bullets out of his bag, passing them to Dean.

“Bullets too? You found the cellar?”

Castiel nods sheepishly. “It was incredible,” he says, taking the lump of clothes out of his bag and unwrapping them until he reveals the jar of light.

Dean grins. “Well you’re a damn thief, ain’t you?”

“My brother was the honorable one.”

“Well, keep it. It’ll die eventually, though. Gotta renew the spell once in a while.” Dean takes the jar and kisses the glass, muttering something that makes the light glow a little brighter. He wraps it back in the clothes and passes it to Castiel. “That oughta save you a couple weeks on lamp fuel and candles.”

He gets to his feet. “I best be heading out. Go home, Cas, find something other than revenge to live for. Your brother was a good man, he’d want a good life for you.”

Castiel watches Dean walk away and doesn’t say a word.

 

*

 

 

Castiel does go home. He fetches his belongings from Naomi’s, then spends days riding Angel back to Wichita, back to the little one bedroom house he shared with Jimmy. It’s a tiny, shabby thing, but it was cheap, a good place to live while saving for somewhere better. Well, for Jimmy. Jimmy planned to ask a local schoolteacher to marry him someday. Amelia. Jimmy had planned to marry her, and for them to move into a nicer house together. Castiel had no such plans. He used to think it was because he wasn’t the marrying type, but eventually he realized he wasn’t the marrying _women_ type.

A secret Jimmy promised to take to his grave, which Castiel supposes he did.

Castiel sighs as he secures Angel to a post in his tiny backyard. This won’t do. He’ll either need to sell her or find a cheap stable. Leaving her out like this is a good way to get her stolen. But it’s late in the evening, Castiel can worry about that tomorrow.

The house is a little musty, mostly thanks to a half loaf of bread Castiel apparently forgot to throw out before leaving. He opens the windows, and instead of starting up a gas lamp he takes his jar of light out and sets it on the dresser on his side of his bedroom.

His side. How silly. The whole bedroom is his now. Still, most of Jimmy’s things are where he left them. Bed made, clothes and books all in their place, half empty glass of water on the thick tree trunk he used as an end table.

The room’s been like this for months, and every time Castiel has come home it hurts to look at. Almost as much as it hurts to think about discarding Jimmy’s belongings. Maybe, though, maybe it’s time to finally stop leaving the room looking like Jimmy will be home any minute.

Tomorrow. Castiel will deal with it tomorrow. For now, he puts a heavy coat over the light jar, curls up on his bed, and thinks about ghosts and Dean Winchester until he falls asleep.

 

*

 

The house feels no less depressing when Castiel wakes. He spends the day sorting Jimmy’s things into piles of what to keep, what to try selling, and what to toss. Most of Jimmy’s books go into the sell pile, most of his clothes go into the keep pile. Castiel figures a man can always use more clothes, and Jimmy’s are in way better shape than his. Jimmy’s mattress goes underneath Castiel’s, and his bed frame gets put in the backyard, propped up against the house to be dealt with another day. Castiel doesn’t throw out any of Jimmy’s knickknacks or decorations, but he does sell the ring Jimmy bought for Amelia.

For a long time Castiel thought about giving it to her, thinking maybe Jimmy would want her to have it. He kept putting it off, though, and one day Castiel came home on a break from tracking Sam and Dean, and he saw that Amelia had found a new suitor. If she’s moved on, Castiel doesn’t want to do something that will wreck her progress.

Plus, housing Angel at a livery isn’t cheap.

The second day Castel is home, he spends cleaning. Maybe it’s because he’s used to doing that at Naomi’s, or maybe he wants to make his house feel… alive. He attacks every bit of dust he can find, washes his mother’s old lace curtains, even cleans the back privy to the best of his ability.

He wishes he had some of Naomi’s lemon scented soap to make his home smell fresher, but it does at least smell nicer than it did when he got home.

 

*

 

The third day Castiel is home, he packs some clothes, supplies, and his jar of light, then he gets Angel and leaves for Concordia.

 

*

 

It takes a solid five days of fairly easy travel for Angel to take Castiel from Wichita to Concordia. He has no idea if the Winchester’s will be here yet, but judging by the time it took him to get home, and the route the Winchesters take, Concordia is a safer bet than the Potawatomi reservation, though he supposes they could be in Stockton or Hoxie by now.

It’s no matter. Castiel found them before, finding them with a literal list of the cities they visit will surely not be as difficult.

Now that he knows what it is Sam and Dean Winchester do, Castiel knows what kinds of questions to ask. He does so without Jimmy’s badge for the time being, in case that tips them off again, and instead of asking about the brothers Castiel asks about strange occurrences in the area.

It only takes talking to seven people before someone’s telling Castiel about strange animal attacks on the outskirts of town, in an area mostly used for visiting travelling shows. Apparently three men tilling the field for an upcoming circus were killed in the night last week, another two men a few days later. No one’s seen who or what is doing the killing, but an absolutely haunted looking man sitting outside the post office said the victims were ripped to shreds, worse than any bear or cougar attack he’d ever seen.

Well, that’s terrifying.

As much as Castiel wants to investigate, find out what’s killed these men, he doesn’t _actually_ know what he’s doing. He’s got one gun and no idea what’s out there. Investigating might get him killed right off the bat. He may be depressed and reckless, but he’s not looking to die. Especially if it’ll involve being torn to pieces. He spends the day talking to people, taking notes. One woman, a saloon owner, seems particularly unbothered by the attacks.

“There’ll be someone along soon enough to deal with it,” she says, wiping down her empty counter. She’s wearing jeans, which is something Castiel doesn’t see that often. “Until then, I’ll be keeping me and mine indoors at night, suggest you do the same.”

Castiel wants to ask the woman, Ellen, more about who she thinks will be along to deal with the issue, but maybe that’ll be suspicious. She has to mean the Winchesters, though, doesn’t she?

 

*

 

When night falls, Castiel opts to seek shelter at the local church. He’d rather spend a night uncomfortable in God’s house than risk sleeping outdoors, though if it were allowed he’d just curl up in a corner of Angel’s stable at the town’s livery.

There’s nowhere to sleep in the church other than the pews, and despite the reverend giving Castiel a comfortable blanket, it is not the nicest night of sleep he’s ever had. Maybe someday church pews will have cushions, like an indoor bench or a daybed. Castiel smiles, the thought of more comfortable church seating helping him to fall asleep.

 

*

 

Castiel wakes suddenly, and though his hat is over his face, he can sense someone is in the room with him. He lifts his hat, somehow not that surprised to see Dean sitting in the pew in front of his, turned around and staring at him.

“I hope you realize how eerie that is,” Castiel says, putting his hat back over his face.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, Cas.”

“I’m just trying to learn.”

“Learn what? To hunt? You ain’t a hunter.”

“Maybe I want to be.”

“Why?”

“Why does that matter?”

Dean makes a noise of frustration. “What, so you couldn’t kill me and Sam so you wanna find something else to kill?”

Castiel sits up angrily, but his retort dies when he looks at Dean’s face. There’s a large gash on the side of his face… no, three of them, and quite a bit of blood.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine, I’ll heal it later. Be good as new.”

“What happened?”

“I spent my night hunting the damn Okami.”

“The what?”

“The thing out there that would have ripped you to pieces, Cas. It took me _and_ my brother to take her down, and we’re seasoned hunters. And I’m a damn _witch._ And even then we had to use the fuckin’ Colt, which means we’re down to three bullets.”

“Surely you can buy more bullets.”

“They’re special bullets, Cas. They can kill just about anything, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to make more.”

“Well… that’s not _my_ fault.”

“The point is, you wouldn’t have been able to kill her, you idiot. An Okami’s gotta be killed by a bamboo sword blessed by a Shinto priest from Japan. You got one of those? Maybe a stick of dynamite? A gun that can kill anything?”

“No, but I—”

“Go home, Castiel,” Dean hisses. “Next time I catch you out following us you’re gonna find yourself hexed.”

“Hexed with what?”

“I’ll turn you into a fucking frog.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Can you really do that?”

Dean’s glare is dead serious, but really it’s not an answer. “This work ain’t for you,” he says, then he’s getting up and storming out of the church.

Castiel watches him go, an odd pang of regret tugging at his heart.

 

*

 

Castiel’s not going to let some grouchy witch stand in his way. He was never suited to a life as a lawman like Jimmy, but this… _this_ feels like something he can do. There’s a whole other world out there that he never knew of, he can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. If Dean doesn’t want to see Castiel following him, well… he just won’t follow him.

The next day Castiel starts the long ride back to Lawrence, since he knows the Winchesters won’t be there. More days of riding with only a horse for company, but Castiel doesn’t mind. He was always something of a loner compared to his brother, content with having his brother as his best friend and no one else.

He wonders if it will ever stop feeling like a physical pain to think of his twin.

When Castiel finally reaches Lawrence, he waits until night before getting close to the town, and risks tying Angel up outside the Winchester home instead of taking her to the livery. Better to reduce the chances of anyone noticing he’s here and ratting him out to Dean. He goes to the cellar entrance, pushing hard on that bolted down chair until it opens, and then he climbs his way down to the large, empty room hidden beneath the surface. He’s got food from a store over in Perry, composition notebooks, a couple of red cedar pencils, and he knows the Winchesters have fountain pens.

Threats of hexes or not, he’s going to learn everything he can from the books in the Winchester cellar and try again.

 

*

 

Castiel takes thorough and diligent notes as he works through the various tomes in the room. There’s so much to learn, and he doesn’t know how long he has. He’d take the books with him, but he doesn’t want to do something that will impede the important work Sam and Dean do.

For three days, Castiel mostly stays in the cellar, studying, poking through belongings, only surfacing once a day to tend to Angel.

Unfortunately, even after three days of intense studying Castiel feels like he’s learned very little. There are no guides, no way to know which books hold the most relevant information. Castiel was reading one book for over half an hour before he realized it was actually a fictional novel that had gotten mixed in with the other books.

There are so many creatures out in the world. Things that Castiel has only heard of in stories, things he hasn’t heard of at all. Part of him wants to curl up in a ball and never leave his home again and hope all the monsters leave him be, but the other part of him is so terribly _interested_ in all of this.

Still, there are some important things he’s able to glean, themes that appear over and over in the books and in his notes. Salt, iron, and holy water are essentials. Along with that, it’s important to have something that makes fire quickly, a sharp and long blade like a machete, a rosary, and a charm to prevent demonic possession.

Searching through the room, Castiel is able to find all of those things. These, he does take. He has to assume if they were vital to Sam and Dean’s hunting excursions, they’d have the items with them. The things Castiel finds are old, scratched, stained with blood. Probably spares.

Well, he hopes so.

By the time he leaves, Castiel is feeling confident. He knows what sorts of signs to look for, he has a good variety of pilfered tools, he’s feeling strong after a few days spent not riding. The only issue is a hand cramp from constant note taking, but that’ll pass.

He also has his own map, now. A shaky copy of the Winchester map, so he knows which towns to avoid. Sam and Dean travel a great deal, but they can’t be everywhere, and there are plenty of towns that don’t seem to be part of their route.

He can do this. He _wants_ to do this. Instead of drifting through life missing his brother, he can make Jimmy’s death mean something. If Castiel can save just one life with his newfound knowledge… it would mean Jimmy’s death wasn’t in vain.

He can do this.

 

*

 

It takes two weeks of traveling through a number of townships before Castiel finally comes across a… a case, he supposes. He’s travelled close to the southern border of Kansas, a town named Cherryvale. As soon as he arrives he sees a group of women in full mourning garb. Several shops are closed despite the time of day, some houses have wreaths with black ribbons hung on their doors.

 _Finally_.

Castiel wonders if it’s in poor taste to be excited to find people in mourning. Probably. There could have been an accident, perhaps some disease has swept through town… but judging by the distrustful looks strangers are giving him, Castiel thinks something more sinister has happened. This time he’ll have to use Jimmy’s badge.

 

*

 

“It’s been awful, just awful.” The woman behind the drugstore counter is in a thick black dress, her eyes puffy from crying sometime within the past hour or so. “Fourteen dead in under two months, can you imagine that in such a small town?”

“Are they… animal attacks?” Castiel asks, hoping he sounds sympathetic rather than eager.

The woman’s face shifts from grief to fear. “That’s what they’re saying, but if you want my opinion… the thing out there has smarts, more than some rabid animal. It started picking off farmers on the edges of town, now they’ve moved on to night workers in the town itself, like my husband. God rest his soul.”

“When did he die?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Castiel puts his hand over the woman’s the way people did for him when Jimmy died. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“People are afraid to leave their homes, Deputy,” she says. “Time was this store closed at sunset, my husband would lock up and be home by dark. That’s when it got him. Ripped through his skin, broke his neck. Now I close the shop early, rush home, and keep my door locked tight.”

Castiel nods slowly. “I hate to be indelicate, but is there anything else you can tell me about the way your husband and the others died?”

“Town doctor said it looked like they’d lost a lot of blood, only there’s never much blood at the scene. They want to believe it’s a feral beast, but tell me, Deputy, when have you ever heard of a bear or coyote draining blood from its kill? None of them were torn to pieces, far as I know. Just one or two wounds, sometimes a broken neck. That sound like an animal to you?”

“Not at all, Ma’am.”

 

*

 

A vampire, Castiel is certain of it. What else would drain blood from their victims? And only attacks when the sun has gone down? Until Castiel broke into the cellar to read those books, he’d thought vampires were a fiction. A product of stories like Carmilla or Varney the Vampire, morbid Victorian stories full of blood and seduction.

According to the lore Castiel read and what Dean told him back in Topeka, vampirism can actually be cured, but only if the vampire hasn’t ingested human blood. Clearly this vampire has already ingested plenty.

The lore also says vampires will eschew the sun unless absolutely necessary, as it causes significant pain. Sunlight is not known to kill them, however, and the best way to kill a vampire is to sever the head.

Good thing Castiel stole that machete.

He rides Angel around the outskirts of Cherryvale, checking abandoned and poorly attended properties for any signs of vampires, and finds nothing. Over and over, he finds nothing. No blood, no corpses, no vampire. The sun will be getting low soon, and Castiel fully intends to be indoors when darkness falls. There’s an inn nearby that looks a little expensive, but hopefully is safe.

It starts to become a routine, after ten or so buildings. Castiel goes in, looks around, finds nothing, then leaves. Over and over. He stops expecting to find anything.

Maybe he gets careless, maybe that’s why he when he finally finds a dried puddle of blood on the ground he gets distracted, doesn’t see it coming when a vampire jumps down from the rafters of the old barn he’s in. Then a second. Then a third.

Castiel gets a few good swipes in with the machete, but there’s three when Castiel was only expecting one. They easily overpower him, pin him to the ground. They look so human, until they open their mouths, baring their fangs. Terrifying, far more so than the sketches in the books Castiel read.

They don’t say anything, they just grin at each other, then down at Castiel before going in for the attack. One at his neck, one at each of his wrists. They bite down and the pain is intense, the smell of blood thick in the air. He struggles and grunts in pain, but there’s nothing he can do.

Perhaps he should have listened to Dean after all.

There’s a light.

A bright, blue light that grows quickly until it’s larger than a person. In the light, Castiel could swear he sees a forest, horses. Like someone tore a hole in the world and inside was a forest… that makes no sense. This must be what dying is like.

Heaven is opening its arms, Castiel’s soul will pass through soon.

That theory is dashed to bits as Sam and Dean come bursting through that strange rift. The light vanishes, and Dean drops like a sack of potatoes, while Sam immediately grabs the discarded machete from the ground and slices the head off the vampire feeding from Castiel’s neck. The other two vampires freeze, staring at their fallen companion before leaping to their feet. Sam is fast, though, and he takes care of them before they can even attack. It happens in seconds, and even though he’s bleeding out on a dirty floor, Castiel can’t help but feel impressed.

“You must be Castiel,” Sam says with a grin, turning to cleave the head off a fourth vampire Castiel hadn’t even noticed rushing through the barn door. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

And that’s the last thing Castiel hears before he loses consciousness.

 

*

 

 

When Castiel wakes, he finds himself on his back, in one of the beds in the Winchester cellar. He stares at the ceiling a moment. How had he never noticed the massive sigil up there before? A devil’s trap, if memory serves.

Wait, how did he get here?

He turns his head. Dean is standing there, glaring. He’s wearing a red union suit, the kind of soft, one piece thermal bodywear Castiel used to sleep in as a child, but that makes him no less intimidating.

“Do those have a flap in the back for your rear end?” Castiel blurts out.

Dean looks startled, he almost smiles before he seems to remember that he’s angry. “You’ve been out for two days and _that’s_ what you open with. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do two portal spells in one day?!”

“I don’t know what that is, so no.”

“Well it’s like ripping a fucking hole in God’s universe with my bare hands and walking through it, Cas.”

“You did look quite ill at the barn.”

“Magic’s got a price, you know. Sometimes it’s a small price; herbs, a drop of blood, a handful of sand… but punching a hole in reality so I can travel halfway across Kansas with _passengers,_ the price was me feeling like I’d been trampled by a horse while I puked my guts out.”

“That’s a high price.”

“And I did it _twice._ Once to get me and Sammy to Cherryvale, once to get you and me back here.”

“Oh no, my horse…”

“She’s fine. Sam’s got her. Took her out to Coldwater.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where _our_ horses are. We had to leave them behind.”

“You were in Coldwater? That’s…”

“Far, yeah. You’re _welcome_ ,” Dean snaps.

Castiel sits up. “Dean, I am of course grateful to both you and your brother for saving my life, I don’t even know how to put that into words. I was foolish, and the only reason I didn’t die is because you—”

“Ripped two holes in reality and spent hours puking my guts out.”

“Yes.”

“It’s easier for dark witches, all they gotta do is channel demonic energy.” Dean stands up and starts pacing. Castiel sees that the long underwear do indeed have a flap on the back. “Me, I don’t have that to draw from. I had to do two portal spells, I had to heal your god damn dying ass, that’s a lot of magic to do in a day, I’m _exhausted_ , can barely get out of bed.”

“You’re out of bed right now,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, well I’ve had time to rest you damn ingrate.”

“I’m grateful, Dean.”

“You can show that gratitude by not making fun of my clothes, then.”

“I wasn’t making fun, I was merely—”

“Shut up. And I know you stole that damn machete from me. And holy water. And a rosary, an anti-possession charm, my old zippo… you a kleptomaniac or something?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean sits on the other bed, crossing his arms and glaring at the floor.

A few tense minutes pass before Castiel speaks again. “How did you know where I was? Or that I was in danger?”

Dean continues glaring at the floor, but now his cheeks are turning pink. “None of your business, that’s how.”

“That’s a childish way to respond.”

“It was another spell, okay? I cast a spell on you. Back at the church.”

“When I was _asleep_?”

“Yeah, then.” Dean’s expression softens, though he doesn’t look up from the floor. “You looked so peaceful in your sleep… I wanted to make sure you stayed safe. The spell was for alerting me if you were in danger, and… look it’s just real complicated magic stuff, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

Castiel thinks he might be blushing now, too. “You wanted to keep me safe?”

“I owe you, okay? I shot your brother in the heart.”

“So… you did all this to see that we’re even?”

“Something like that.”

“When will you know that we’re even?”

“Maybe when I’m sure I can let you go back out in the world and not get yourself killed.”

Castiel finds himself tilting his head, as though he can understand Dean better if he simply looks at him from a different angle. “Meaning?”

“Well, _clearly_ someone needs to teach you to fight before you go out again. And I saw your notebooks. You wrote down a lot of important shit, but there’s huge gaps in your knowledge.”

“You… you want to train me? To be a hunter?”

“Once you’re a little more healed up,” Dean says. He taps his wrist, which confuses Castiel until he looks down at his own wrist. What should be a gnarled and bloody wound is mostly pink scar tissue. It reminds Castiel that the last time he saw Dean, there were horrible gashes on his face. There’s no sign of them now.

“Despite the high price, magic seems… incredible.”

“It’s got perks.”

“Like magical jars of light, and fresh air in an unventilated cellar?”

Dean grins. “Don’t forget portal spells and awesome healing powers.”

 

*

 

Castiel is exhausted from his ordeal, and Dean is exhausted from all the magic he’s been doing, so they both end up going back to sleep.

Castiel’s dreams are peaceful, uncomplicated.

 

*

 

When he wakes the next morning, he and Dean both eat large bowls full of oatmeal and diced berries. Castiel is groggy, so he doesn’t bother asking how Dean cooked the oatmeal.

After that, the training begins. The Winchester house is fairly secluded, and Dean tells Castiel that no one ever comes around this area.

“Aside from vengeful kleptomaniacs,” he adds.

“You’re welcome to go steal something from my home in Wichita if you feel it would even the score.”

“You got anything good?”

“My mother’s silverware, I suppose.”

“Pfft, I’m not going to travel all the way to Wichita for some forks.”

Castiel had assumed training would involve sparring with Dean, but that’s not what happens at all. Dean sits in the grassy field behind the Winchester house, surrounded by a circle of small crystals, assuming what looks to be an Eastern meditation pose. Castiel starts to sit as well, but Dean holds a hand up.

“No, not you. Just me.” He starts muttering under his breath, and soon a misty apparition is appearing before Castiel. A vampire. It seems to be frozen.

Castiel looks from the apparition to Dean. “What in the world is this?”

“A training aid.”

Castiel reaches out to poke the apparition, his hand goes through it. “I can’t touch it.”

“Yeah, that takes more power and it’s a bitch to maintain.”

“How do I fight something I can’t touch?”

“It’s not for _fighting,_ Cas, it’s for instruction.”

 

*

 

It’s a strange day. Dean conjures apparitions of various creatures. He has to remain in his circle of crystals to maintain the spell, but he’s very emphatic as he explains the various quirks and abilities of each creature: strengths, weaknesses, how they can be killed. It’s distressing, how many beasts out there have human forms. It makes Castiel wonder if he’s ever been near a supernatural being without knowing it.

“One lesson I’ve had to learn, time and time again,” Dean says as he lets the terrifying visage of a wendigo fade, “is that not every supernatural creature out there needs to die. You gotta have an open mind sometimes. I mean stuff like wendigos and werewolves and daevas, yeah. They only kill. But there are vampires that only drink cattle, there are witches like me that aren’t trying to do evil, and not every shapeshifter is out there killing people.”

Castiel nods slowly. He sits next to Dean, looking ahead to where the sun is setting. “I take it you’ve made… mistakes in the past?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know if mistake is the right word, but… well Sammy and I used to hunt with our dad before he died well over a decade ago. And Dad, he taught us to kill everything we came across, every supernatural thing out there.”

“But you’re a witch. _You’re_ supernatural.”

“Yeah. My dad said I was the exception, and I believed him for a long time. But a lot of supernatural beings are just… people that got dealt a bad hand.”

“Like Jimmy.”

“Like Jimmy. He really was an honorable man, Cas. Not everybody would come seek us out to die, not when they had a choice. But he chose death over letting the monster inside him live.”

Castiel finds himself sniffling as tears well up in his eyes. “I miss him,” he finds himself confessing. “Without him I have nothing, no one.” An arm curls around him, Dean pulls him closer.

“Well that ain’t true. You got me, and Sam already likes you.”

“I barely met him.”

“Yeah, well he’s easy. Point is, you ain’t alone.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just leans against Dean and keeps his eyes on the setting sun.

 

*

 

Day two of training is far more physical. Dean says knowing about monsters isn’t worth a damn thing if Castiel can’t fight. Castiel assures him he _can_ fight, and so they spar, and Dean proves him terribly wrong. He shows Castiel how to throw a more effective punch, how to break free if his arms are pinned, how to think of every object in a room as a weapon during a fight. They do a bit of target practice with Dean’s gun, but Castiel is already a fine marksman. He shoots five old mason jars from a fair distance, grinning at Dean’s stunned but impressed expression when he finishes.

Then there’s… a moment.

He’s grinning at Dean. Dean’s staring at him.

There’s something in the air between them, heat, electricity… _magic_. Castiel finds himself starting to lean forward before he realizes what he’s doing and stumbles back. He’s not about to lose the only friend he has because of his proclivities.

Dean seems a bit scattered in response, and he quickly changes the subject to demons. He goes over the exorcism with Castiel and has him recite it over and over until he’s satisfied that Castiel has it perfectly memorized.

 

*

 

Over two weeks pass.

Castiel mostly stays in the cellar, despite Dean’s assertions that he should get out. The people of Lawrence are clearly protective of Sam and Dean, Castiel learned that the day he first arrived, but he’s not sure how they’ll take to him. He’s not eager to find out yet.

The lessons continue.

Dean seems determined to teach Castiel every bit of knowledge he can, from the best accelerant to use when burning bodies, to how to evade the lawmen that don’t take kindly to things like grave desecration and chopping the heads off seemingly human people.

“The longer you hunt, the more likely it is that you’re going to do something that gets the attention of lawmen. That’s just how it is. Sammy and I are good at what we do and we still got on your brother’s radar. Sooner or later, you’re going to have your own wanted poster circulating. Can you live with that?”

“I can.”

 

*

 

“Alright, enough is enough.” The sound of Dean’s voice startles the life out of Castiel. He was deeply engrossed in an old hunter’s journal, and had no idea Dean had come back from going into town.

“You just scared the wits out of me.”

“I think ‘being aware of surroundings’ should be your next lesson, then.”

“I’d be more attentive were I on a hunt and not in a secret basement.”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s enough?”

“You’ve been hanging out here this whole time, you won’t go into town. Enough with _that._ ”

“I don’t need to go into town, I’m fine here.”

“Cas, there’s more to life than studying and killing leprechauns.”

Castiel sets the journal down. “ _Leprechauns_ are real?”

“Guess you’re not at that part of the journal yet.”

Castiel picks the journal back up and starts flipping through pages, whining with dismay when Dean yanks it out of his hand. “Get some shoes on, we’re going out.”

Castiel sighs, but obliges. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

 

*

 

Sam still isn’t back with their horses, so Castiel and Dean have to walk to Lawrence proper, which is a mile or two from the Winchester house. It’s a nice day out. Late in the fall, but not too cold yet. Castiel wonders if Dean has a spell for keeping the cellar warm in the cold months.

He stumbles over his own feet as he realizes he has no idea where he’ll be come winter. Will he still be imposing on Dean’s hospitality? Will he be hunting alone?

“Cas?”

“Sorry, I think there was a rock,” Castiel mumbles.

“Graceful one, you are.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Most people don’t know about the supernatural beings out there.”

“True.”

“And many people believe you and Sam to be criminals due to things you’ve done in the name of hunting.”

“Also true. Usually we’re good at what we do, you know, but if you get sloppy, or if things go sideways… it draws attention.”

“So… how is the town so loyal to you? When I was posing as a deputy, no one here would give you up, not even Naomi, who doesn’t seem to care for you at all.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah I pissed in her rosebush when I was ten, she never really forgave me.”

“You wha—”

“Anyway, for a long time, this town wasn’t loyal to me, or my family. There were a lotta rumors about us… mainly that my mom was a witch.”

“Which she was.”

“I didn’t say the rumors were _wrong._ But anyway, when I was younger, people tended to avoid us. We had close family friends and all, like Bobby from Singer’s Goods, but in general we weren’t popular. Most parents wouldn’t let their kids play with me and Sam, my mom didn’t get the same support as other war wives, that sort of thing. Well, according to my dad. I was real young when she died, don’t remember much. But when I was about twenty, a whole mess of ghouls came to town.”

“Ghouls,” Castiel repeats, trying to remember what he’s learned. “Shapeshifting corpse eaters, right?”

“Yeah, except these ones were coming after the living. You’d think they’d leave the living be... war left a lot of dead around these parts. Anyway… people started disappearing, dying. Bodies mangled, strangers spotted on the edge of town, that sort of thing. The town came to my family for help. My mom was long dead, but they were hoping there was something we could do. Which we did. It was hard, and bloody, never had a pack of ghouls that big before or since. That was when we lost my dad. The town took good care of me and Sammy after that. Now obviously not every last person knows what happened, or what it is Sam and I do, but… enough do.”

It warms Castiel’s heart to know these people looked after Sam and Dean when they lost everything. “How remarkable… it makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“How many other towns or states have stories like that.”

“Well, there’s a lot of hunters out there. Not all of them roam like me and Sammy, but there’s towns all over the country under the protection of a hunter. Most aren’t as awesome as me, though.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and shoves at Dean with his shoulder as they continue walking. “Of course not.”

 

*

 

Their destination apparently is a large house toward the edge of town, just off the main drag. Dean walks in without knocking, which seems rude, and he grabs Castiel’s hand to pull him along inside. Castiel mourns the contact the instant he lets go.

Inside the house is apparently a dinner party of sorts. There are many people there milling about; talking, drinking, including Bobby Singer and Rufus, the man who let Castiel ride to Lawrence in his cart. Castiel supposes this means he and Bobby are back on speaking terms.

“Who are all these people?” Castiel whispers to Dean.

Dean grins, looking proud. “Hunters, mostly. Some are retired, like Bobby and Rufus there. We do this every few months. Usually here at Bobby’s. We swap stories and relics, eat good food, toast the dead, introduce newbies.”

“Introduce— oh, God.” Castiel starts to back away, and Dean slings an arm around him.

“Hey guys!” Dean shouts, and the people in the living room turn to look. “I brought Cas!”

“CAS!” The room shouts in unison.

Castiel feels his cheeks heat up before the occupants blessedly turn their attention back to each other.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Dean says, giving Castiel a small shake before letting him go.

And it is. Castiel has a good time. Now that they know Castiel isn’t actually a deputy investigating Sam and Dean, the people are very welcoming to him. Bobby plies Castiel with beer, a woman named Donna drags him to the dining room to make sure he gets a plate of food, and Ellen Harvelle, who Castiel remembers interviewing in Concordia, grills him to make sure he has all the appropriate hunter tools.

Dean proudly talks about training, and how Castiel almost got himself killed back in Cherryvale. Castiel feels embarrassed until it turns out nearly everyone in the room has an “I was almost killed by a vampire” story.

After about two hours Sam shows up, finally back from fetching the horses. The room cheers at his arrival, and Castiel marvels at the pure _love_ in the room. These are people that have seen the worst in the world, and still they have so much joy.

Sam makes a beeline for where Dean and Castiel are sitting, and after hugging Dean in greeting he immediately starts quizzing Castiel on what he’s learned, tutting over gaps in his knowledge and chiding Dean for things he failed to teach Castiel. He reminds Castiel a little of Jimmy back when they were still in school.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam, can’t you do this tomorrow?”

“But I’m _excited,_ ” Sam says enthusiastically. “We have an apprentice!”

Castiel never thought of it like that. He can’t help but think he’s a bit old to be an apprentice, but one must start at the bottom.

“What’ll happen after he’s all trained up?” Another hunter, Victor, asks.

Ellen’s daughter Jo chimes in. “You’re from Wichita, right? You gonna be their resident hunter, or roam the plains like Big Moose and the Wayward Witch?”

“I, uh… I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Castiel stammers. “Are there… hunters stationed in Wichita?” He glances at Dean, and can’t help but think he looks a little sad. The look vanishes the moment they make eye contact, and Castiel wonders if it was ever even there.

“Wichita, Wichita,” Bobby mutters, staring off into space a minute. “Think that’s Tara’s stomping grounds.”

“Well, Tara can’t cover everything, otherwise she wouldn’t have had that werewolf problem,” another man says. Castiel doesn’t know his name, but Jo hits him over the back of the head as soon as he speaks. “ _What_?”

“That werewolf killed Castiel’s _twin,_ you unbelievable moron,” Ellen barks.

“We told you this _two hours ago,_ Garth,” Jo says.

Castiel shakes his head and smiles. “It’s alright. And technically, the werewolf didn’t kill my brother, Dean did.”

The room gets very quiet. Castiel looks around, concerned he said something wrong.

“He _asked me to_ ,” Dean says, hunching in on himself.

“Damn, that’s morbid,” Jo, says.

“Can we talk about something else?” Sam says.

“Like that time Bobby fought a siren and she took the form of Rufus?” Dean offers.

Castiel hasn’t read up on sirens yet, so he has no idea why everyone starts laughing.

The conversation and the evening continue. There’s so much laughter and love in this room, Castiel feels honored to be a part of it. He finds himself smiling more than he has in a very long time.

 

*

 

Eventually, the night ends. Several hunters leave with Donna, who apparently lives nearby in a similarly large house, while others bed down at Bobby’s. Castiel expects Sam to come back with him and Dean, but he doesn’t.

“I was thinking I’d stay here a while, actually, since Dean’s still using my bed.”

“I thought _I_ was in your bed,” Castiel says.

Sam shrugs. “Dean said his was more comfortable, wanted you to take it.”

Castiel looks at Dean, who makes a scoffing sound and looks away. “I hate to impose, perhaps I should stay elsewhere so you can have your room back?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam says, slapping Castiel on the back with gusto. “We’ll figure something out. Go get some rest, tomorrow I’m teaching you about sirens.”

“ _I’ll_ teach him,” Dean says.

“You can do your magical projection thing, but _obviously_ I’m better at explaining things than you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “One of these days you’re gonna wake up _bald,_ Sammy.” He holds one hand out, a ball of glowing light appearing.

“HEY!” Bobby shouts from further in the house. “No magic indoors! You know the rules, Dean!”

Dean grunts in reply, but the ball of light disappears. “Yeah well you teach Cas about sirens and then we’ll ask him who’s better at it.”

Castiel shakes his head vigorously. “I absolutely refuse to participate in any sibling rivalry,” he says, and walks out the door, leaving Dean to catch up after him.

 

*

 

“Thank you for bringing me tonight, Dean.”

“Cas, you don’t have to keep saying that.”

They’re back at the Winchester house, though not down in the cellar yet. Instead they’re out in the field Dean uses for training, lying on their backs with their coats rolled up as pillows. The sky is dark and full of stars, tonight, it’s mesmerizing.

“I can’t help but express all the gratitude I’m feeling.”

“I wanted to make sure you understood that hunting isn’t just death and killing and isolation. We’re a community, a family. We look after each other.”

“A family?”

“Back after my dad died, before I worked my magic on the cellar, Sam and I stayed with Bobby, and he always reminded us that family didn’t end with blood. The family you choose matters just as much.”

“I appreciate you… sharing your family with me. You’ve done so much for me, after I came all this way to _kill_ you. I’m grateful for all of it, and a bit sorry for the imposition.”

Dean falls silent for nearly a minute. “It hasn’t been an imposition, Cas. I like having you around.”

Castiel turns his head toward Dean to find him doing the same. The moon is nearly full, it illuminates his features so beautifully. “Do you really mean that?” Castiel says softly.

“Yeah, I do. I know you’ve got a place back in Wichita, maybe a life there. But I just want you to know... you’ve got a place here too.”

Castiel drinks those words in, savoring them. The way Dean is looking at him right now… it _has_ to mean what he thinks it means. A man doesn’t just look at another man like that if he doesn’t… but… Castiel doesn’t want to be wrong. He wishes he knew how to ask.

“I have a house in Wichita, I wouldn’t say I have a life there,” he says. Their voices are hushed, even though there’s no one for miles around. “I could see… I could see myself sticking around. Seeing as I’m your… apprentice, and all.”

“Safer to hunt with me and Sammy,” Dean mutters. He seems like he’s closer, maybe Castiel is imagining it.

“I did almost die last time I went alone,” Castiel says.

“I want to keep you safe, Cas.”

“I feel safe with you.”

Castiel blinks and the entire world seems to change, because Dean Winchester is kissing him. Gently, just for a moment, but a kiss nonetheless.

Dean pulls back, and the charming, enigmatic witch fades away, and all that’s looking at Castiel is a wonderful, vulnerable man. “Is… was that okay?” he says, voice so tender Castiel can barely hear him.

“It was… enchanting,” Castiel says, not aware of the double meaning until Dean gets an odd look on his face.

“You know this isn’t a spell, right? I wouldn’t… I don’t—”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I know. I was being hyperbolic.”

“Oh.” Dean sighs with relief, smiling. “So, can we do that again, then?”

Castiel doesn’t need to be asked twice.

 

 

*

 

 

(Four months later)

 

This is Castiel’s favorite part of a hunt.

The wraith is dead, and the good people of Kingman can safely go to the town doctor without worrying they will mysteriously vanish. One of the first things that changed when Castiel started hunting with Sam and Dean was rotating which cities they visit. Kingman wasn’t part of their route before, who knows how many more that wraith would have killed if they hadn’t come.

But that’s not Castiel’s favorite part.

Sam is off “stretching his legs”, something he does often when they’re on the road. Dean and Castiel know why Sam makes himself scarce, just like Sam surely knows what they’re doing the second he’s out of earshot.

Dean gets a bit keyed up after a successful hunt, even the times he’s simultaneously exhausted. It’s the joy that comes from knowing one’s calling in life, from pursuing that calling. Castiel feels it too, though not to the degree that Dean does. There are moments, when Dean is gripping a machete while coated in vampire blood, or when his body is glowing as he channels the power of nature, that Castiel believes Dean was well and truly born for this life.

“Damn it, Cas, do you have to say shit like that out loud?”

Castiel smiles down at Dean. “Yes. Toughen up.”

They’re in an old barn, a few miles outside of Kingman. The farmhouse nearby is abandoned, damaged badly from some natural disaster, but the barn is in good repair. In lieu of candles, Dean has conjured a few lights. Without jars to contain them, they dance slowly around the room, circling overhead. Castiel has Dean pressed into a pile of loose, dusty old hay, the ratty plaid blanket from Dean’s bag doing very little to stop the straws of hay from poking their skin. They’re still mostly clothed, though Dean’s shirt is partially open so that Castiel can suck bruises into the warm, salty skin of his neck while his hand creeps lower, lower.

Sometimes, when they’re alone and back in the cellar, they explore each other with fingers and oil, sometimes they engage in some fairly aggressive and very illegal activities. On the road, though, it’s easier to find their pleasure this way.

Dean lets out excited moans when Castiel kisses him, when he works Dean’s pants open. He spits into his palm, an act he once found appalling, then takes Dean in hand.

He works his hand slowly, face buried in the bruised skin at Dean’s neck. The hickeys will heal when Dean sleeps, for the magic in his body can’t help but work to regenerate him when he’s unconscious, but Dean still loves being marked.

Castiel’s experience with men before Dean was fairly limited, but no man before him was so sensual, so free of the shame that follows so many men who love other men. It gives Castiel confidence, makes him feel more sexual than he normally would.

Being with Dean elevates Castiel in every way, and he’s terribly grateful. He’d articulate this, but perhaps he should give Dean a break from the praise. Instead he continues to work Dean in slow strokes, moaning softly against Dean as his hand grows slicker.

It takes a long time to bring Dean to completion this way, and Castiel loves it; Dean’s innate impatience put through the wringer, the waiting, the longing, his moans… the fact that he never tries to make Castiel go faster. Dean is strong, powerful, zealous, but for Castiel he is vulnerable and tender.

When he comes, when his hard won release finally overtakes him, Dean shakes and shudders, breaths heavy, voice high and fragile. When the tension leaves his body Dean all but melts into the pile of hay, immediately smiling lazily up at Castiel as he lets go of Dean’s flesh.

For a moment Dean lies there, sated, movements slow as one finger traces Castiel’s lips. He is distractingly beautiful as always.

Without warning, he suddenly springs to life again, knocking Castiel onto his back on the dirt floor of the barn. Castiel opens his mouth to complain, but Dean’s already working his jeans open, mouth lowering onto Castiel’s cock immediately. Castiel gasps, hands moving to grip Dean’s short, sweat-damp hair. He thanks God and all His angels for whatever genetic anomaly that allows Dean to take Castiel’s entire length into his mouth, his _throat_ as his head bobs enthusiastically over Castiel’s open pants.

Castiel likes to think he has some measure of stamina, a bit of self control, but he’s helpless against the slick, tight warmth engulfing him. No more than two minutes pass before he’s coming hard, shouting every profanity under the sun, toes curling in his boots.

“So much _swearing,_ Cas,” Dean says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Someone’s got a dirty mouth.” He crawls over Castiel, kissing him deep; another act Castiel wouldn’t have imagined himself doing before he met Dean. Kissing a lover that’s just brought him to completion with his mouth… obscene.

“Is that a double entendre?” Castiel replies lazily.

“I’m clever like that.” Dean carefully tucks Castiel back into his jeans before getting to his feet. He holds his hand out. “Up, up.”

“I’m recovering,” Castiel says petulantly, slapping Dean’s hand away. Dean reaches down again, grabbing both of Castiel’s hands and pulling until he whines and stands.

“Recover on the nice, comfy hay.”

Castiel groans when they collapse on their backs in the blanket-covered pile of hay. “I wouldn’t call it _comfy_. I don’t suppose you have some sort of spell to turn this pile of hay into a pile of goose down or duck feathers?”

Dean looks at Castiel. He seems to be actually considering this idea. “Never thought of that before… don’t have the reagents for that, but it’d be interesting to try when we’re back home.”

A little shiver of joy skitters through Castiel at Dean casually calling the cellar “home”. “Damn, a feather bed would be lovely right now.”

“I like the way your mind works, though. I should teach you more about magic.”

“I can’t use magic…”

“I know, but you might think of things no one else has. New spells.”

“Is there such a thing as a _new_ spell?”

“Well… not _new_. Undiscovered.”

“That does sound interesting.”

There’s a high, piercing sound in the distance. Sam, whistling as he starts coming back in their direction. Not terribly subtle, but it’s better than him walking in on them in flagrante delicto for a seventh time. Castiel rolls onto his side to kiss Dean.

“Knowing me has its perks, huh?”

“Dean, knowing you has been nothing _but_ perks.”

Dean groans loudly, and Castiel grins, settling back onto the blanket and watching the lights slowly drift around the room.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, Kris' art post is located [HERE](http://kelisab.tumblr.com/post/174850133149/my-art-for-this-years-deancas-reverse-bang-in), please show her some love! 
> 
> (In case you're curious, the original art prompt was the picture with Castiel holding the wanted posters.)
> 
> Here is the masterpost if you want to reblog? [CLiCKy!](https://deancasreversebang.tumblr.com/post/174851163660/title-wheat-fields-and-jars-of-light-artist)


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